I’m thinking about the doctor in the riddle who can’t operate because that’s her child on the operating table.
On television it’s all thinkable.
Then in some poetic essay you don’t happen to mention terms of endearment, my, my, my,
I get a little kick every time
One toe squished up against the next
I think I love being by myself it’s being alone that gets uneasy
Calamari without fried breading isn’t that just squid
I take the tunnel off the bookshelf
Hoping for, what, harbingers of prophecy?
It’s like a ferocious beige wall, the closer you get, the beigier
Goodest, boy number one says
Most good, boy number two corrects
I have to catch them both before we can go on
But the same thing I’m writing in order to tell you, you are reading in order to tell me
Some friends sit at our table
I deal the cards
Last night I watched a video on how to play contract bridge, the game my great-great-uncle supposedly invented
I’ve seen his face on the cover of Sports Illustrated though history is apocryphal
The rules are nearly unlearnable but I could have played it with you all night a hundred years ago today
Imagine the luxury of that much luxury
Who has the time? What time is it?
I asked a celebrity by accident after a midnight movie when I first got to the city
He scowled back and gave me a middle finger
That’s one approach
Bad riddance to good rubbish
As of tonight even my eight year old has learned air quotes
Living in the country of innovation
Walking over the rocks on Paloma Beach
Waiting for the day to wear the hat so I can toss the hat into the wind
Today is always that day, right?